I was at Foster’s last Saturday with my bestie and housemate Lynne, and it was even busier than usual, probably because of the public holiday Monday.
I don’t know why we get into the mindset that shopping for a long weekend is like storing supplies for a brutal winter or major hurricane. It’s only one extra day, and the markets are actually open with reduced hours on most public holidays, but for some reason an almost mild panic sets in. Suppose we go through that entire gallon of milk, even though we only use it for coffee, and then we’ll have nothing for Tuesday morning! Are two loaves of bread enough for three days? Start rationing the toast!
I know these are exaggerations, but I’m certainly speaking for myself when I say I approach a supermarket in ‘Stocking Up’ mode if Monday is a holiday.
So, we made our way up and down the aisles, greeting people we knew, arguing about whether we had butter at the house and, if so, was Lynne sure it was salted, rather than the unpalatable unsalted she insists on buying like we’re running a bakery?
By the time we were heading for the cash registers, we had a decent-sized load in the cart. Now came the big challenge: Which was the best checkout to pick?
We can’t be the only ones who size up each line of customers, trying to make a savvy decision. There are many elements to consider, and the ideal queue is the one that answers ‘yes’ to all these questions:
- Does the cashier appear to be speedy?
- Do they have an assigned bagging person?
- If no to above, do the customers in that line carry reusable bags (implying they are willing to bag their own groceries, rather than wait for the cashier to do it)?
- Do said customers have simple items with easily visible barcodes?
On the opposite side of the spectrum, key warning signs are carts full of loose, small cans of cat food. They take ages to load up on the belt (I’m speaking from personal experience) and have to be scanned individually. Also be wary of the Healthy Eater, as each bag of produce has to be recognised and weighed… and heaven forbid they’ve done a deep dive into the exotic fruits and vegetables that don’t often appear on the shelves. While the cashier attempts to identify a rare kumquat and search for its price, that’s a precious five minutes you could have been otherwise spending outside, maskless.
The final red light is the Couple That Separates. I don’t mean romantically – I mean one of them slowly walks off to find an item or confirm a price for the other, and then basically disappears into Narnia. It can also happen with solo flyers, so keep your wits about you.
As we got ready to check out that Saturday, I was really torn between two lines. The one next to me seemed to be moving faster, but then I’d be in an awkward position, semi-blocking other customers trying to make their way through the store. I finally accepted my fate, and stuck where I was. Luckily, I was behind a Reusable Bagger, so I forgave her for being a Healthy Eater; besides, she had also stayed with the tried-and-true vegetable choices, like cucumbers and lettuce. No curve balls there.
Why do we get so tense about possibly standing in the wrong line, particularly when we rarely save anything more than a few minutes, no matter what we choose? Am I alone in my misery?
Before ESTA and Global Entry existed, immigration in Miami International Airport was the ultimate example of Line Envy. On a busy day, there could be crowds of people to the back wall, and as you were greeted by them while you rounded the last corner, fresh from your flight, you had to scan the queues with lightning speed to try and get the fastest-moving one. I’d make my choice, but then – inevitably – I would see passengers moving forward to my left and right, while a family at the front of my line tried to explain to an officer that they didn’t realise they needed special paperwork for their son. I would actually feel my blood pressure rising as that officer turned on his booth’s flashing light to indicate that Houston, he had a problem, and then he would finally go off in search of an elusive superior to get further advice on the matter.
My next flight could have been in five hours, but I didn’t care. I wanted out of that room.
Of course, if I made the daring move to join another line, the one I had just left would instantly start racing forward. The family’s complicated pickle would have been sorted the moment I was gone, and the rest of the line – no doubt populated with US diplomats – dealt with in record time.
Thankfully, after many years, a bright spark came up with the idea of arranging people serpentine-fashion in one line, as though a rollercoaster ride lay at the end, which allowed the passenger at the head to just go to the next available agent. It was a much fairer system, and is now the norm for most businesses where you have to stand in line for service.
Even such brilliant innovations aside, we still spend so much time looking for the best deal possible, that we waste any advantage we might have gained in its pursuit.
Parking spaces are a classic example. I was exercising every day, trying to lose weight and get healthier, yet there I was, circling the A. L. Thompson’s lot like a grounded vulture, hoping that the person in one of the prime spots near the building was about to reverse out so I could nab it. I probably spent five minutes playing that fruitless game (they were just sitting in their car, possibly waiting for another passenger), and in the meantime, perfectly decent spaces were being taken up by other customers. In the end, I had to give up and park on the other side of the lot, which meant walking an extra few hundred feet – an irritation, if I was to be honest. However, later that same evening, I was settling in to do 30 minutes on the treadmill. What’s wrong with me?
I can be just as illogical when it comes to finances. I will sit and argue the expense of buying a vital appliance for the house, that will make our lives easier, while bemoaning the state of my bank account and saying we’ll maybe have to cut back in the future. Then, barely a day later, I’ll bring home a brand new large fondue set, along with a neon light in the shape of a giant Swiss cheese wedge, and talk about organising a party in the next week. Maybe it seems more fun, the idea of having a Chalet Night at Lynne and Vicki’s, rather than buying a standing freezer, but I’m over the age of 30 and should know better.
I think this whole business of always trying to get in the fastest line, or find the nicest parking space, is just human nature. We want the best deal, or to feel like we’ve won something. I certainly let out a ‘Yip’ of delight if I get a space so close to Foster’s, I’m practically pulling into the deli. But is that perpetual quest really good for our health? Wouldn’t we be better off just getting into a state of Zen and not caring? Can we train ourselves to do this?
I’m going to put it to the test this weekend. I’ll deliberately park miles away from the supermarket doors, and get in the longest cashier line behind couples with furrowed brows carting mountains of different fruit towards a non-existent bagperson.
See you in prison.
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